


A Drunken Kiss For a Big, Bad Wolf

by The Space Bard (GraceJordan)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Drunken Kiss, Drunkenness, First Kiss, M/M, Tree Climbing, spiderman kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23410471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceJordan/pseuds/The%20Space%20Bard
Summary: Jaskier is an annoying drunk. But Geralt gets a little more than he asks for one drunken night...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 197





	A Drunken Kiss For a Big, Bad Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: https://incorrectly-quoted-queers.tumblr.com/

Jaskier was the most annoying drunk on the Continent. Geralt had lived decades and met many men and women completely blasted by alcohol, who cried in stairwells or turned into absurd flirts trying to fuck anything in their path. 

But Jaskier? It was like trying to hunt down a god of chaos in the darkness. 

If the man didn’t sink his teeth into the latest beautiful maiden or handsome patron, he went absolutely wild. And, unfortunately, this time it wasn’t singing disturbingly perfect renditions of his favorite songs. This time, some idiot let him loose. 

So, Geralt found himself in the countryside, trapped in a silly silk shirt because Jaskier made him wear it, stalking down the escaped bard. 

If he wasn’t afraid the poor moron would run himself into a drowner he wouldn’t bother, but he really didn’t want that kind of problem on his hands. Geralt was generally annoyed by the singing and talking and yelling and questioning, but when those weren’t there...

Well, the world felt emptier than before. 

Not that he’d ever admit that to the man currently frolicking somewhere in the fields like this was some fairytale musical. 

Lucky for Geralt, he didn’t have to use his Witcher senses much. Jaskier was singing at the top of his lungs, so he just had to follow the sweet sound. 

After a few hundred feet, he finally found the pink-clad deviant. The knee of his pant leg was torn to shreds (from hapless stumbling, no doubt) and every item on his body was askew, but it was him; messy, crooning, stupid and handsome Jaskier. 

When Geralt finished his most recent job, Jaskier practically grovelled to have a night out on the town, like they were two simple, normal folk. Geralt hated that idea, but it made Jaskier shut up, so he dressed him up in this odd red shirt, and Jaskier wriggled himself into this rose-tinted ensemble, saying he was feeling flirty. 

Now, he didn’t know what about flirty meant singing “Her Sweet Kiss” while dangling from a tree, but Gods knew he didn’t fucking understand Jaskier half the time. He just followed him, like an ever-present babysitter. 

But he had to admit, the rosiness of his cheeks matching his outfit made for an adorably dumb picture. 

Crossing his arms, he said to Jaskier, “Get down.”

“No!” Petulant as ever, Jaskier instead chose to swing his legs and keep humming. 

As amusing as this was the first time a decade ago, Geralt was starting to feel a little grated by Jaskier’s drunken choices. He couldn’t just get emotional or clumsy like most people, could he? 

Granted, Jaskier wasn’t most people. 

With a roll of his eyes, Geralt, sat down under the tree. “I won’t come get you.”

“Good!”

Fine. If that’s how the man wanted to be, they were going to sit here until he acted like a damned adult, not a feral toddler on the run. 

That, or until Geralt got sick of him and used Aard to get the stubborn asshole down.

But before that could even become an option, the bard swung down from the tree, hanging by his ankles, staring at Geralt upside down. Geralt growled; he was smirking like an idiot.

Jaskier giggled, grabbing onto one of Geralt’s lobes. “What good ears you have, finding me.”

“Hmm. Sure.”

His hands moved to his face, tracing his fingertips around Geralt’s eye sockets. “What handsome eyes you have, glowing there in the dark.”

This time, Jaskier caught Geralt off guard. The bard had called him handsome before, in a sort of matter-of-fact way, but there was something about the way he was looking at him... Geralt felt his heart beat slow, even slower than normal. “Hmm?”

Unphased, Jaskier bit his lip and said, “Wonder if there’s sharp teeth in there, too, my big bad wolf.”

“Jaskier, stop acting like a-”

“Only one way to find out.” Before Geralt could react, Jaskier’s soft hands placed themselves on each side ofhis face and pulled him close, pressing his mouth to Geralt’s. And where his heartbeat was slow before, it caught right back up on contact. 

Of all the people Jaskier had been interested in, he’d never thought...

And as Jaskier’s tongue slipped in his mouth, it ran over his teeth like a scientific experiment, before he went back to the basics of mouth-to-mouth contact. 

He was perhaps more surprised that he didn't want Jaskier to stop; if anything, he wanted to pull him off the damned branch and bring him closer to his chest, make him feel the way his heart was beating, because he knew he was too much of an idiot to say it out loud. 

After all, many people had called him the big bad wolf before. But none of them ever said it and pulled him closer. If anything, they used it like a sharp stick ot push him away.

But Jaskier, he just... He said it like some secret promise between them. One Geralt didn’t quite understand yet it kept thudding in his chest, in his head, reminding him over and over that the bard saw the wolf and liked it. 

When Jaskier finally let go, because Gods knew Geralt was too incapable right now to stop himself, he felt a hunger he didn’t know. Not the kind filled with rage or hatred or loneliness. This hunger wanted to make those blue eyes sparkle, those soft lips whimper, hear his little bard’s voice crack with need.

Geralt wasn’t sure if it had just been that long since he’d been with someone or Jaskier had just done something to him that the Witcher didn’t know how to undo. 

And just as the warmth filling his bones felt unbearable, and he contemplated going in for another kiss, and another, Jaskier’s legs lost hold of the branch and he toppled to the ground, right on top of Geralt. 

Without hesitation, the bard started to cackle and giggle and Geralt finally remembered, right. The bard’s drunk. 

Pushing Jaskier off of him, Geralt stood up. “You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot.”

Together, they started walking back to the tavern. It wasn’t long before Jaskier was leaning into the Witcher, using him as a pathetic walking stick who wouldn’t say no. Looking down, though, at the bard’s twig-laden mop of hair and his drowsy eyes, Geralt knew that wasn’t wrong.

If anything, it was the only thing that felt right in his life, his warm and stupid bard glued to his side, needing him. 

For once maybe he wouldn’t mind if someone needed him. 

Instead of pushing Jaskier away, he sighed and said, “Yeah, I guess you are.” 

///

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short-fic based on a picture drawn by Tumblr user Ashayathyla :)


End file.
